


When We were Young and had Heart Monitors

by MetaAllu



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: First Kiss, Insomnia, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-28
Updated: 2012-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-31 21:38:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/348615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MetaAllu/pseuds/MetaAllu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The ones who are up and in the living room every day at 2:17 am every day on the dot are Clint and Bruce.  Originally written in <a href="http://captaindick.tumblr.com/">captaindick</a>'s askbox.  Tweaked and spellchecked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When We were Young and had Heart Monitors

If insomnia were an Olympic sport, then Clint is sure the Avengers would win gold. The only one of them who ever seems to be able to sleep is Thor, and that's when his brother isn't up to something, which is less often than one might think. However, the ones who are up and in the living room every day at 2:17 am every day on the dot are Clint and Bruce.

It's a simple matter: Clint is an insomniac from nightmares, and Bruce is coming up to get more coffee before going back down to his lab. For a while they ignore each other. Clint remembers the way his face had flared pink when they'd met, and the way Bruce had refused to meet his gaze. They're both good at avoiding things they don't want to think about, apparently, and in this case that appears to be each other. Clint is honestly fine with that. It's nothing he hasn't done before. 

One night Bruce makes his coffee, and then he pours two cups and says, "How do you take your coffee?" 

"Black," Clint says. He manages a thanks even as their fingers brush. Bruce tactfully doesn't look at him, and then disappears down to his lab. Clint dozes off as the sun comes up, and wakes up with a blanket draped over him. 

The night after that, Bruce sits down beside him and says, "What are you watching?" There's nothing good on the news at 2 am, so they talk. 

Talking, surprisingly, is an easy thing, considering it's a conversation between a scientist and a jock with a bow and arrow. They get into mathematics. Bruce admits that it's not his strong suit, but it's not Clint's either, and they hunker down together on the sofa, coffee in one hand, pens in the other, and argue with each other over math formulas they learned in high school. 

Bruce wears a heart monitor, something he gutted out a full-scale machine for, and the cool plastic rests against the inside of Clint's wrist when their hands tangle. He can feel the line of wire traveling up Bruce's arm and the sleeve of his button-up shirt. It's never bothered Clint, even though he can hear the silent tick of it from one of Bruce's pockets. 

Now and then he'll pull it out and check it, but the first time they kiss — the sun hot behind Clint's eyelids and Bruce's pen resting against his wrist — it gives a loud, warning beep, and they both jerk away. Bruce goes red and mumbles out some excuse as he checks the small display in his pocket and then makes a distressed noise, even as the warning beeps die out. 

Bruce looks up, sheepish and apologetic, and Clint kisses him again even though he's laughing. They tumble down onto the sofa together, the sun beating down on Clint's back. Pens clatter onto the floor, a book on math theorem giving a thump as it lands on the floor as well. Bruce mumbles something about bent pages, and then he pulls Clint closer and runs his tongue over the seam of Clint's lips. 

Kissing is almost easier than talking, and Clint barely even thinks about it as he fumbles with the button of Bruce's jeans and tugs at the zipper. The hands slipping up the back of his own shirt aren't given so much as a second thought. It's as easy as breathing — something he isn't doing much of — and he savours the way Bruce's breath hitches and gasps. He savours the solid, throbbing heat in his hand, and squeezes experimentally. 

The heart monitor beeps at the exact instant Bruce moans into his mouth. Bruce tears away, the monitor continuing erratically as Bruce works Clint's hand out of his pants near by force, trying to remove both the hand, and Clint's mouth from his neck, gasping out protests and formulas until finally Clint relents. 

"Bruce," Clint complains. 

"I'll figure it out," Bruce answers. "But, uh... dinner tomorrow night?"


End file.
